hell on earth
by solicitors
Summary: she was never good at keeping rules anyway — lucas/maya roommates AU
**i dont really know at this point im utterly bored at my friends hosue so :))))**

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 **week 1**

She's really blessed, you know, she is. Because she may have grown up in a trailer park with only her mom on the wrong side of New York (can there even be a wrong side, she wonders sometimes) and she may have lived off of food stamps that were tucked between the stacks of books that were leaned up against the metal wall of her small bathroom—but that's it, you see. Because her mom was always there (only sometimes, perhaps in her heart) but she was a _damn_ good mom. Because she worked her ass off to pay the bills and to keep Maya over one hundred pounds.

She may not have had a fancy TV like the rest of her sixth grade class or a pretty phone to hold in her hand, but she had her mom and that was enough for her.

But she can't help complaining as she looked at her scattered luggage beneath her feet on the porch of her boyfriend's (ex, to be exact) house. You know, to be quite frank, she shouldn't be the one being kicked out (it _wa_ _s_ his house, but she digressed) considering he's the one who cheated. But surely the universe had a fine taste for jackasses.

She only hoped that karma would come around and kick Grayson right in the ass. (Really, to be quite honest she should have expected this kind of behavior with someone named _Grayson_.)

So, here she was; her hair up in braids and her coat pulled on tight as she touched her suitcases lightly. She was absolutely certain that her boyfriend was currently having sex with his coworker in his apartment, and the mere thought made her gag.

She wasn't going to have any good icebreakers soon.

Despite the fact that her best friend would do anything for her, she knew that she couldn't call Riley. She was still in school (learning about space, apparently, took years of work) and bothering her would just put a great deal of stress she would never want her to deal with. And then there was her mom, who was finally well off living with Harper in some fancy apartment complex. But she felt like too much of a mopey daughter than she would have liked if she ever dormed with her mom.

She picked at the few dollars she had and stuffed it in her pocket, hearing the paper crinkle against the denim as she grabbed the black plastic of her bag and rolled it against the ground.

There was a motel a few minutes away. A bus took her there and she could only pay for one night or they would be accepting her lint. So when she found the small newspaper packed away behind the tourist pamphlets near the front desk, she pried at it until it fell to the floor. She couldn't really remember, but she knew the person at the front desk was screaming at her to pick up the things she had dropped and pay for the newspaper (she couldn't) but she ignored him and ran up to her room.

Her bed squeaked too much and it felt like her hair was pulling on her scalp and the television had too much static, so the newspaper was the only thing distracting her from Grayson and that slut from his work (she was only petty though, she's sure she's lovely).

/

The ad was sitting on the right corner of the fourth page, her eyes skimming over it the first time. Lucas Friar, it says, looking for a roommate. Preferably in twenties (check!), no matter the gender (check!), and _not_ obnoxious (she would have to work on that).

And really, truly, sitting on that cardboard bed was really doing wonders on her desperation. The fact of the matter was that she didn't even _know_ this Lucas Friar, he could have very well been a serial killer. She's sure she had heard the name before, though. Maybe Riley saw him once while they were shopping and ranted about his abs or something, but she really didn't care. There was always the more pressing matter: she need a place to live. She really didn't find comfort on the slide at the playground.

/

He had cycled through people and people and people and he couldn't find the right match. He was certain that there was someone out there for him to fit his roommate desires, but he was apparently wrong. All he wanted to do was curl up in a ball and sleep, forgetting the stress of finding a new roommate.

Charlie was in love. Which made things difficult for Lucas when he decided to move out and move in with his new astronomy major girlfriend. Lucas had a well paying job, sure. But not _that_ well where he could afford this nice apartment both him and Charlie had decided on. Which was why he needed a new roommate, and quick. Or the bills wouldn't be payed in time and then he'd be sleeping on the streets. (Hypothetically, of course. He was sure he could find another apartment.)

He was just about to call it a day when he heard a small knock on the other side of his apartment door. He groaned loudly, hoping it wasn't another frat dude looking for a place to bring his girls. He opened the door only to see a small girl, covered in a winter coat with her cheeks slightly blushed. Her blonde hair was tied tightly in braids and she looked _tiny_ , and fragile.

That is, until she spoke.

"I'm Maya and I'm your new roommate."

"Excuse me?" he sputtered slightly, surprised at her fierceness and dominance. Her personality obviously clashed with her looks.

She laughed only slightly, one of her eyebrows raised and her hands stuffed deep into her coat pockets. He couldn't blame her, not really. It was one of the coldest nights of the year out in New York. And if he looked behind her, he could see the numerous suitcases scattered around her feet. All black and sleek and they looked more than a few pounds.

"Did you not hear me?" she asked him incredulously, stepping into his well furnished apartment. "I'm Maya Hart, your new roommate." She gave him a quick look as if telling him to pick up her suitcases and bring them inside her— _his_ apartment. Who was she?

He obeyed, of course, dragging her luggage inside of his apartment and letting it plop by her feet. And then he asked the vital question: "Who are you, exactly?"

She scoffed slightly, kicking off her shoes and letting herself fall onto his plush couch. "I'm Maya Hart, your new roommate," she clarified for the third time, staring at him as if he were dumb.

He cleared his throat rather dramatically and eyed her luggage. Who was she exactly? For all he knew, she could be a serial killer. He was certain he had her about her before, but he couldn't place _where_. "I'm aware," he said. "But who do you think you are, barging into my apartment and demanding that you're my roommate? I've never heard of you before or even _seen_ you."

She made a sound as if he wrong and threw her finger up into the air. "Wrong. You've heard of me. I'm Maya Hart, think of that real hard."

He thought and then a moment of clarity came to him. "Oh! You're that artist girl! I've seen some of your paintings around New York."

"Ding ding."

"Right, anyway. What's a girl like you doing and barging in peoples home and demanding them that they be their roommate?"

She laughed slightly, and he decided that he liked her laugh; it was soft and sweet. "Things happen, Huckleberry. Life does, anyway. I move in with a boyfriend who so happens to be cheating on me with his coworker and life kicks me in the ass. It's what happens when you're me, anyway."

He thought he would take a liking to her, despite the fact that she had just called him Huckleberry and came in his apartment unannounced.

/

First of all: Lucas was _wrong_. Dead wrong. Maya Hart, amazing artist and _really_ nice laugher, was no walk in the park roommate. She had three levels: angry, angrier, and angriest.

Lucas always seemed to stumble on the middle one, when she was livid. He had the pleasure of being around her one time when she was at her angriest and let's just say that it took awhile to grow his eyebrow back. He had a very specific order of things in his homely abode, one where things went properly and in a mannerly fashion. If there's a fire, please exit calmly through the front door. If we're out of snacks, I'll go to the store after work. If there's a stain on the wall, I'll gather up the stuff from under the kitchen sink and clean it up on the weekend.

Suffice to say, Maya didn't like his order. When there was a fire, all hell broke loose; no way in _hell_ was she going to get burned alive because of his goddamn _order_. If they were out of snacks, she was _mad_ because she's hungry and she can't study when she doesn't have her fucking _food_. She can't wait for his slow ass to come home from work _and_ buy all healthy snacks! If there was a stain on the wall, she would get rid of that _quick_ if it bothered her.

They had different views.

But he couldn't just... _kick_ her out. Looking for a new roommate the week prior was already hard enough, looking _again_ and trying to avoid lunatics like Maya was even harder. Plus, her boyfriend cheated on her. Which sucked, of course, and he should give her a break. She was just getting over a bad breakup, of course. She never talked about it, actually - she seemed to avoid the topic of conversation much.

But there was always the fact that she was _ruining_ his _order_.

"Huckleberry," she would say one time as he walked through the door, his keys in hand. She was on their ( _his_ ) couch lazily, her legs draped over the head of the couch. A bowl of ice cream accompanied her as she looked at the TV screen with a bored expression; all she wore was her underwear and a long shirt to cover her torso (he could see her legs for miles, which, first of all, was _not_ doing good things to his body).

"Maya," he groaned back, looking at the disarray of clothes strewn on the floor. She was a slob, to say at the very least. In the short week he had been living with her (he wasn't so sure if it had been successful), she had already thrown his order into the wind. Clothes were on the ceiling fan—which left him wondering how they got there in the first place. He wasn't sure where that banana stain on the wall came from (or _if_ it was a banana stain, he wasn't so sure he wanted to know what it was).

"What's with the long face, Cowboy?" she asked him curiously, twisting her body to look at him upright.

He breathed loudly, unsure of what to say. He knew he wanted to express his feelings about her slobiness and whatnot, but he wasn't sure if it was going to offend her or not. She was surely interesting, and most _definitely_ confusing.

So he sat down next to her, rubbing his hands over his strong face. (She wasn't going to lie, not at all. He was attractive, but he didn't need to know that.) "We need to..." he trailed off, looking for the words. "Talk," he clarified, removing his hands from his face and letting his elbows lie on his knees, looking at her.

She was used to this at this point. When boys needed to talk, they generally were breaking the news that they were cheating or breaking up with her—or better _yet_ , using her for sex and her personality was a drag. Of course, this couldn't be the case with Lucas since he wasn't involved with her in anyway romantically, but she knew with the face what was coming.

She wasn't a good roommate and she would soon be promptly kicked out.

Of course, she was expecting this but she just didn't see it so soon. Maybe her strong and abrasive personality was multiplied by the thousands due to her recent breakup and emotions and hormones raging through her. She didn't know she was _that_ much of a drag.

But there was always the ever presenting problem: she had no place to live or she would be _homeless_ ; she was _not_ going to live in parks again.

"Save me the drama," she said quickly, giving her spoon one last lick, popping up from her seat and setting her bowl down in the sink. "I'm a slob, correct? And my personality is much too different compared to yours so we clash, right? Don't give me the melodramatics when I already know what's coming, Ranger Rick."

His mouth hung agape for a moment in surprise at her sudden insertion and seemingly lack of care for most probably getting kicked out—granted, he should have expected this with her, she was always different.

"I mean.. Maya," he trailed off, feeling his tongue go dry as he searched for the proper words to say to her.

"C'mon, Huckleberry," she pressured, her eyebrows raised and her hair splayed out around her breast. "I take stuff lightly, you know that. Just spit it out and we'll be done with this."

So he breathed out once, and said what he needed to say to her. "You're a slob, Maya. I don't know how you do it, how you live in this _filth_ ," he waved his hand around the room to indicate what he was talking about. "There are clothes on the ceiling fan, which I don't even know how that's possible without them being but deliberately there—the fridge is filled with empty vodka bottles. Which makes the fridge stink, and makes me worry about you. Your sheets are disgusting and need to be washed. Your personality is much too harsh for any company, you have an offsetting attitude. You act as if this is _your_ place and you make the rules when I've been here for at the least two years. You? A week."

She waved it off dismissively. "So, what are you going to do about it?"

"Well—"

She didn't let him finish his thought as she quickly interrupted him with a slice of her hand in the air, giving him a pointed look. "You'll have to think about your words carefully, Cowboy. I am paying for half of the rent, you know."

That left him speechless, once more. She _was_ right. She was paying for half of the rent, and kicking her out would leave him in a pile of bills. He _would_ be able to find a cheaper place that could certainly fit his needs but he had grown such an attachment to this place, and he couldn't just give it up because of a roommate he didn't see eye to eye with.

The roommate looking process wore him out. He was certain his blonde artist was going to wear him out much faster, but he was willing to take the chance.

After a moment or two, he finally spoke. "Okay, fine, you stay here." A smiled form on her face in delight at her success of convincing him for her to stay. "But we need _rules_."

She groaned loudly, walking over to him and letting herself plop on the couch next to him. "Why?" she whined.

"We need rules if we want our relationship to work to the point where we can live with each other being roommates."

She rubbed her eyelids and threw her head back on her couch, preparing herself for the hell of rules he was going to present. She never liked rules, anyway.

"Our curfew is at _ten_ , for the both of us." Her eyebrows raised as she opened her mouth to argue but he gave her a look and she sank back on the plush couch. "I'm not kidding, Maya. You need sleep for your exhibits and morning classes, which you clearly _lack_. I'm going to bed at ten as well. I'm sick of you coming home late after a night of clubbing and you drunk and moping like a sick puppy."

"That isn't fair," she shot back. "That's _controlling_. You can't decide what time I come home."

"Ten," he clarified.

"Two," she shot back quickly, her arms crossed in front of her chest. She was _not_ going to be treated like a child and have a curfew of ten. "You aren't my mom, Billy Bob."

"Eleven," he reasoned.

"Twelve!"

"Fine."

"Fine!"

He rolled his eyes in a dramatic matter. She was a handful. "Fine, the established curfew is at twelve. You can come home no later or I'll probably call the police so they can bring you home."

"This is an abusive relationship."

"No it _isn't_ ," he clarified. "We're roommates and we have to come to an agreement for all living arrangements to thrive.. or to even live with each other!" he nearly shouted. "I'm sick of you coming home late and having to put you to bed when you know that you've got art exhibits in the morning, therefore the curfew is twelve. Weekends I can maybe extend to one."

She yawned loudly, throwing her arm behind her back and waiting for the rest of his rules that she would surely argue with later.

"No more getting drunk."

She laughed at that and gave him a weary eye, giving him a look as if she were asking if he was _really_ serious. "You can't be serious!"

He sighed, running his hand over his face. "See, I knew you were going to argue over this. All you think about is yourself, and you don't consider the type of situation you put me in when you get drunk."

"Like _what_? Are you the one with an aching headache the next morning? No! So it doesn't _concern_ you."

He grunted loudly as if he were laughing at her. "Yes, but I have to _deal_ with you the next morning. And it _does_ concern me, Maya, that's the point. You getting sickeningly drunk to the point where you pass out is concerning and I don't want to have to deal with it."

"How about I get drunk on the weekends?" she bargained.

He thought about it for a moment, and it did seem like a good deal. He was kind of putting these restraints on her that she wasn't used to, so it would take a lot of time adjusting for her. But she needed these things, these _rules_ because it was obvious that she grew up without restraint and that's exactly what she needed at this point.

"Fine, but no bringing guys home!"

"Only when you're home. When you're not, I can do whatever I want, right? With the guys, of course."

"Sure," he groaned. "Every two weeks you will take your sheets off of your bed and put them in your laundry basket to get washed; they'll be back before night. You will _not_ fill my fridge up with empty vodka bottles. You will _not_ leave expired food in the fridge. You will _not_ leave random stains on the wall, and you will _not_ leave your clothes strewn around everywhere."

She sighed loudly, throwing her head back on the couch. She couldn't believe the restraints he was putting on her, Riley was _never_ like this. She let her live her life, she let her do her thing while she did hers. Same with Grayson, as much as she hated to admit it. He was kind of distant and never there to watch what Maya did, so she wasn't used to this. "I get freedoms on the weekends. And if these rules apply to me, they apply to you as well."

He rubbed his scalp and sighed, they obviously didn't see eye to eye. "Sure, Maya. You just need to remember that not only is this your place, but this is _my_ place too. I graciously accepted you as my roommate and I can just as graciously kick you out. These rules are kept in place for order, Maya. Not chaos, which is exactly what you are."

/

She was never good at keeping rules anyway.

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 **chapter 1. each chapter = 1 week. trust me, im working on atpssuoh right now and with the whole zay finding out thing. but i love roommate stories and decided to write one myself. this development will be slow but im so excited. i think there will be around 26(ish) chapters which is half of a year! okay :-)**


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